have funky glasses. My migraine has dissolved into a minor irritation. I still have tightness in my shoulders, but music isn’t inciting me to murder anyone and my appetite is back again (thanks to a foray into carbs while I had the migraine’ big mistake because now I could eat a Buick), so I’m guessing that it will continue to trail away into nothing by the weekend. Yay. Go Advil. It’s your birthday.

It’s part Trading Spaces and part What Not To Wear, tossed with Will & Grace and sprinkled with Absolutely Fabulous. Five crack commandos (heee! Oh, I make myself giggle), armed with their killer fashion sense and witty snarks make over the entire life of some poor confused straight man. Each of the Fab Five have a specialty in the Fabulous Arts (like the A Team, only it’s the gAy Team) of cooking, fashion, home design, personal styling, and culture. In two episodes, they’ve painted, decluttered, taken down a unibrow, explained about why men should not wear pleats unless they weigh 120 pounds (hallelujah!), given praise to wooden hangers, and gave lessons how to make lavosh.

I made Esteban watch the first episode with me (his response ‘This is going to leave me traumatized, isn’t it?’) and I doubt we’ve laughed that much at one television show. Not only are the boys hysterical, but they are so GOOD! In the beginning, as I was saying ‘See?’ to Esteban while they explained to Butch that his long hair actually made him look thinning on the top, he scoffed, but then when he saw the spectacular results, he was interested. As the show was wrapping up, he said ‘You want me to go on that show, don’t you?’ to which I replied, ‘No, I want ME to go on that show.’ I love them, each and every one of them. I want Kyan (a cute mix of Dylan McDermott and Eric McCormack) to run his hands through my hair. I want Carson to take me shopping and tell me I look thin in those jeans. I want Thom to paint my dining room red and then buy me a three thousand dollar chofa. And most of all, I want Ted, the cooking guru. Not to do anything. I just want him. He would understand my obsession with not having my iced tea throttled about. We could spend Saturdays running around to little stores for just the right ingredient. I would so love to be his hag. And I think he would love to be my fag as well. We would be a match made in Harrods.

Alton Brown, Verizon Guy, and now Ted the cooking guy. I’m beginning to see a pattern.

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